CHAPTER 38 #3
“Yeah, she kind of arranged the gala. She’s the one who negotiated all of these moths. Stupid really, they’re just going to go back into circulation, and we’ll be plucking their carcasses out of cages in no time.”
“That’s horrible. Speaking of horrible, the guy next to me is kind of creepy,” I whispered in an even lower tone.
“Ahh, he’s harmless. Stinking rich, but harmless. An old friend of my dad’s.”
Beyond Spencer, a figure strode toward the table, and my heart caught in my throat for the second time that evening, when Professor Bramwell eased into the seat two down from Spencer. When his eyes found me again, a rush of warmth shot through my veins.
The chair between him and Spencer remained empty, and it was only then I took notice that everyone at the table had a companion. Except him.
My eyes darted toward the provost, who quickly looked away from me. I leaned into Spencer again. “Are your dad … I mean … is your mom–”
“She’s home. Sick. Which just means she took too many sleeping pills again.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Yeah. Happens a lot.”
“I wasn’t sure if Gilchrist was …” Hesitating to say, I shook my head. “Never mind.”
In a subtle gesture, he covered his mouth with his hand and leaned in closer. “They actually can’t stand each other. Kinda makes this really awkward.”
At a flash of her cupping Spencer’s crotch, I nodded. “I can imagine.”
In the quiet that followed, I stared down at the elaborate table setting–three forks on the left, two knives and a spoon on the right, a smaller fork and spoon above my plate, and some odd-looking pronged utensil I’d never seen before.
Our waiter brought out a variety of appetizers that had my eyes popping–tuna tartare, halibut ceviche, seared octopus, salmon latke. I had no freaking clue what any of them were, but sampled one of the salmon latkes only because they were bite-sized.
Next course consisted of a shellfish bisque, and as I reached for my silverware, I caught Professor Bramwell staring at me.
I tried not to notice the seat beside him, still absent of a date.
“Doctor Bramwell,” the man to my left grumbled around his food.
“While in Vegas last month, I visited a restaurant where you can order caterpillar fungus soup for a mere seven hundred dollars a bowl. Supposed to have amazing healing properties. A natural cancer treatment. And an aphrodisiac.” He elbowed me under the table, and I frowned.
“What are your thoughts?” For a man who supposedly had an obscene amount of money, he certainly lacked table etiquette in the way he slurped his soup.
I turned my attention toward Professor Bramwell, who stared back at the man with undisguised disinterest. It made me wonder if they knew each other outside of the gala, because I could almost feel the hostile chemistry between them.
“ Ophiocordyceps sinensis . A cousin of the cordyceps species that turns ants into zombies. Harmless to humans, but if you’re foolish enough to pay seven hundred dollars for what you think is the next panacea, then I’d wonder if it did, indeed, infect your brain.”
Biting my lip failed to contain the quiet chuckle in my throat.
Undoubtedly rattled, the man beside me bristled and hmphed and sat back in his chair. “Isn’t that the basis of your research, Professor?”
“My research focuses on a single toxin and its effect on autoimmune response. No, I do not believe it is the cure-all that has the power to improve your sex life. I suspect not even Viagra has that much ambition.”
Eyes wide, I snapped my gaze to the plate in front of me. They had to have known each other. Professor Bramwell certainly had a coarse edge to his social skills, but I’d never heard him outwardly insult someone.
Mrs. Dandridge coughed into her napkin, and I couldn’t tell if she ended her fit on a snicker or a choke.
Provost Lippincott let out a nervous chuckle. “Devryck has a … quite a sense of humor.” An air of discomfort clung to his words, but the tension remained thick.
I stole another glance at Professor Bramwell, who downed another glass of champagne, those copper eyes landing on me, the moment he set the glass on the table.
A strange pull tugged at my chest. I couldn’t explain it. Even as abrasive as he was, I found him utterly captivating. Magnetic.
When the main lobster course arrived, I kept light conversation with Spencer about the food and interesting spots on Dracadia where I’d yet to venture.
Still, I couldn’t help stealing more glances at Professor Bramwell, every one of them met by his unabashed stare.
My dress scratched at my skin where it felt too tight, caging me in, as my skin flushed and my stomach fluttered.
The blonde server from before made a second appearance and, with a gentle touch of his shoulder, whispered something in Lippincott’s ear.
When she glanced back at me, I realized I’d been staring a bit too intently, and clearing my throat, I snapped my gaze toward my hands in my lap, catching Dandridge gripping his crotch under the table beside me, in a crass adjustment.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Provost Lippincott said, sliding his chair back and depositing his napkin on the table. The moment he strode out of the dining room after the server, the cramping tension in my stomach loosened a bit, reminding me how uneasy I felt around him.
The reprieve was short lived, though, as only a few minutes later, the provost returned to his seat, and my anxiety cranked a notch tighter than before.
Dessert arrived. Mine was a tiny square of a cheesecake with some kind of berry topping, each person at the table served something different.
“They know how to skimp out, don’t they?” Spencer snorted and popped what looked like a cheesecake filled strawberry into his mouth.
Toying with my dessert fork, I willed myself not to look at Bramwell again. It was ridiculous and perhaps even inappropriate.
But part of me didn’t care.
Professor Bramwell had taken notice of me, and as much as I’d originally loathed the idea of going to the gala, I was glad that I had.
I took a bite of the delicious berry cheesecake, the flavor reminding of the drink I’d had earlier. As I licked the sauce from my lips, I caught Professor Bramwell turning away. My attention swung toward Gilchrist, who glared at me from across the table, her lips snarled in disapproval.
“Where are you from?” Mr. Dandridge asked, and I inwardly cringed at the question.
Perhaps telling him the truth would inspire him to leave me alone, though. “Covington,” I said as unflinching as I could muster, and forced myself not to fidget too much when his face pinched to a frown.
“Covington? That horrible city in Massachusetts?”
“Yeah.”
“Good God. How did you, um …. How did you end up here, at Dracadia?”
“Decent test scores and grades.”
“Everyone at Dracadia has decent test scores and grades.” He leaned into me, close enough that I could feel his hot breath against my cheek.
“Or was it extracurricular activities that gave you an edge over your fellow classmates, hmmm?” Beneath the tablecloth, his hand landed on my thigh.
“I have a number of connections here, as well.”
My muscles lurched with the urge to slap him, my cheeks so red with anger and humiliation, I could hardly spit out a word. It had to be written all over my face.
A cold paralysis settled in my bones, though. Do something! my head urged me, but my body felt stiff and heavy with shock. As his hand moved higher, I finally reached under the table and gripped his wrist, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.
He took hold of my hand and drew it to his thigh, and my muscles trembled to pull myself from his grasp.
The entire silent struggle seemingly oblivious to the others, who went about eating their dessert without a single word.
Not even Spencer seemed to be privy, as he smiled at me, before popping another strawberry into his mouth.
“I wonder what your wife would think, if she knew you were groping the young girl beside you, Charles?” Everyone at the table gasped in unison, as Professor Bramwell casually took a sip of a new glass of champagne.
“Or do the two of you partake in extramarital activities, which gives you a pass, hmmm?” Professor Bramwell’s tone carried an edge of mocking that echoed Mr. Dandridge’s from moments ago, and I didn’t know what was more shocking–what he’d said or that he’d heard Dandridge’s words to begin with.
The grip of my thigh quickly fell away, and while I was relieved, my face burned with the shame of not having stood up for myself.
“Devryck!” Provost Lippincott shot to his feet and threw his napkin onto the table. “Is it your intent to insult my guests at a very important gala which happens to fund your research?”
“Is it your intent to ignore the fact that another of your guests is clearly uncomfortable? Or is it only the wealthy donors whose comfort matters most, Edward ?”
“Enough of this. Please,” the provost said.
“Yes. I’ve had quite enough.” Bramwell turned his attention to Spencer.
“Be a gentleman and switch seats with her.” His gaze flicked my way, and hardened into something almost murderous when it shifted beyond me.
“And if you value your anatomy, I’d strongly advise you keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Dandridge.
” With that, Professor Bramwell tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed to his feet.
My heart sank to my stomach watching him stride toward the exit.
“Is that a threat? Did he just threaten me, Edward?” Dandridge shifted in his seat, knocking me in the arm.
“No … he …. No, it wasn’t a threat.” Provost Lippincott let out that nervous chuckle again.
“He absolutely did! I heard it. Everyone at the table heard it.”
“Can it, Charles,” his wife finally said beside him. “You are an embarrassment.”
I’d heard it, though. Professor Bramwell had threatened him. For me. In all of my twenty years, no one had ever stood up for me. No one had ever intervened on my behalf.